Off on a Comet: Part Two

Chapter XI

A Fete Day

The temperature continued to decrease; the mercurial
thermometer, which freezes at 42 degrees below zero, was no longer of
service, and the spirit thermometer of the Dobryna had been
brought into use. This now registered 53 degrees below freezing-point.

In the creek, where the two vessels had been moored for the winter, the
elevation of the ice, in anticipation of which Lieutenant Procope had
taken the precautionary measure of beveling, was going on slowly but
irresistibly, and the tartan was upheaved fifty feet above the level of
the Gallian Sea, while the schooner, as being lighter, had been raised to
a still greater altitude.

So irresistible was this gradual process of elevation, so utterly defying
all human power to arrest, that the lieutenant began to feel very anxious
as to the safety of his yacht. With the exception of the engine and the
masts, everything had been cleared out and conveyed to shore, but in the
event of a thaw it appeared that nothing short of a miracle could prevent
the hull from being dashed to pieces, and then all means of leaving the
promontory would be gone. The Hansa, of course, would share a
similar fate; in fact, it had already heeled over to such an extent as to
render it quite dangerous for its obstinate owner, who, at the peril of
his life, resolved that he would stay where he could watch over his
all-precious cargo, though continually invoking curses on the ill-fate of
which he deemed himself the victim.

There was, however, a stronger will than Isaac Hakkabut’s. Although no
one of all the community cared at all for the safety of the Jew, they
cared very much for the security of his cargo, and when Servadac found
that nothing would induce the old man to abandon his present quarters
voluntarily, he very soon adopted measures of coercion that were far more
effectual than any representations of personal danger.

“Stop where you like, Hakkabut,” said the captain to him; “but understand
that I consider it my duty to make sure that your cargo is taken care of.
I am going to have it carried across to land, at once.”

Neither groans, nor tears, nor protestations on the part of the Jew, were
of the slightest avail. Forthwith, on the 20th of December, the removal
of the goods commenced.

Both Spaniards and Russians were all occupied for several days in the
work of unloading the tartan. Well muffled up as they were in furs, they
were able to endure the cold with impunity, making it their special care
to avoid actual contact with any article made of metal, which, in the low
state of the temperature, would inevitably have taken all the skin off
their hands, as much as if it had been red-hot. The task, however, was
brought to an end without accident of any kind; and when the stores of
the Hansa were safely deposited in the galleries of the Hive,
Lieutenant Procope avowed that he really felt that his mind had been
unburdened from a great anxiety.

Captain Servadac gave old Isaac full permission to take up his residence
amongst the rest of the community, promised him the entire control over
his own property, and altogether showed him so much consideration that,
but for his unbounded respect for his master, Ben Zoof would have liked
to reprimand him for his courtesy to a man whom he so cordially despised.

Although Hakkabut clamored most vehemently about his goods being carried
off “against his will,” in his heart he was more than satisfied to see
his property transferred to a place of safety, and delighted, moreover,
to know that the transport had been effected without a farthing of
expense to himself. As soon, then, as he found the tartan empty, he was
only too glad to accept the offer that had been made him, and very soon
made his way over to the quarters in the gallery where his merchandise
had been stored. Here he lived day and night. He supplied himself with
what little food he required from his own stock of provisions, a small
spirit-lamp sufficing to perform all the operations of his meager
cookery. Consequently all intercourse between himself and the rest of the
inhabitants was entirely confined to business transactions, when occasion
required that some purchase should be made from his stock of commodities.
Meanwhile, all the silver and gold of the colony was gradually finding
its way to a double-locked drawer, of which the Jew most carefully
guarded the key.

The 1st of January was drawing near, the anniversary of the shock which
had resulted in the severance of thirty-six human beings from the society
of their fellow-men. Hitherto, not one of them was missing. The unvarying
calmness of the climate, notwithstanding the cold, had tended to maintain
them in good health, and there seemed no reason to doubt that, when
Gallia returned to the earth, the total of its little population would
still be complete.

The 1st of January, it is true, was not properly “New Year’s Day” in
Gallia, but Captain Servadac, nevertheless, was very anxious to have it
observed as a holiday.

“I do not think,” he said to Count Timascheff and Lieutenant Procope,
“that we ought to allow our people to lose their interest in the world to
which we are all hoping to return; and how can we cement the bond that
ought to unite us, better than by celebrating, in common with our
fellow-creatures upon earth, a day that awakens afresh the kindliest
sentiments of all? Besides,” he added, smiling, “I expect that Gallia,
although invisible just at present to the naked eye, is being closely
watched by the telescopes of our terrestrial friends, and I have no doubt
that the newspapers and scientific journals of both hemispheres are full
of accounts detailing the movements of the new comet.”

“True,” asserted the count. “I can quite imagine that we are occasioning
no small excitement in all the chief observatories.”

“Ay, more than that,” said the lieutenant; “our Gallia is certain to be
far more than a mere object of scientific interest or curiosity. Why
should we doubt that the elements of a comet which has once come into
collision with the earth have by this time been accurately calculated?
What our friend the professor has done here, has been done likewise on
the earth, where, beyond a question, all manner of expedients are being
discussed as to the best way of mitigating the violence of a concussion
that must occur.”

The lieutenant’s conjectures were so reasonable that they commanded
assent. Gallia could scarcely be otherwise than an object of terror to
the inhabitants of the earth, who could by no means be certain that a
second collision would be comparatively so harmless as the first. Even to
the Gallians themselves, much as they looked forward to the event, the
prospect was not unmixed with alarm, and they would rejoice in the
invention of any device by which it was likely the impetus of the shock
might be deadened.

Christmas arrived, and was marked by appropriate religious observance by
everyone in the community, with the exception of the Jew, who made a
point of secluding himself more obstinately than ever in the gloomy
recesses of his retreat.

To Ben Zoof the last week of the year was full of bustle. The
arrangements for the New Year fete were entrusted to him, and he
was anxious, in spite of the resources of Gallia being so limited, to
make the program for the great day as attractive as possible.

It was a matter of debate that night whether the professor should be
invited to join the party; it was scarcely likely that he would care to
come, but, on the whole, it was felt to be advisable to ask him. At first
Captain Servadac thought of going in person with the invitation; but,
remembering Rosette’s dislike to visitors, he altered his mind, and sent
young Pablo up to the observatory with a formal note, requesting the
pleasure of Professor Rosette’s company at the New Year’s fete.

Pablo was soon back, bringing no answer except that the professor had
told him that “to-day was the l25th of June, and that to-morrow would be
the 1st of July.”

Consequently, Servadac and the count took it for granted that Palmyrin
Rosette declined their invitation.

An hour after sunrise on New Year’s Day, Frenchmen, Russians, Spaniards,
and little Nina, as the representative of Italy, sat down to a feast such
as never before had been seen in Gallia. Ben Zoof and the Russian cook
had quite surpassed themselves. The wines, part of the Dobryna’s
stores, were of excellent quality. Those of the vintages of France and
Spain were drunk in toasting their respective countries, and even Russia
was honored in a similar way by means of a few bottles of kummel. The
company was more than contented—it was as jovial as Ben Zoof could
desire; and the ringing cheers that followed the great toast of the
day—“A happy return to our Mother Earth,” must fairly have startled the
professor in the silence of his observatory.

The dejeuner over, there still remained three hours of daylight.
The sun was approaching the zenith, but so dim and enfeebled were his
rays that they were very unlike what had produced the wines of Bordeaux
and Burgundy which they had just been enjoying, and it was necessary for
all, before starting upon an excursion that would last over nightfall, to
envelop themselves in the thickest of clothing.

Full of spirits, the party left the Hive, and chattering and singing as
they went, made their way down to the frozen shore, where they fastened
on their skates. Once upon the ice, everyone followed his own fancy, and
some singly, some in groups, scattered themselves in all directions.
Captain Servadac, the count, and the lieutenant were generally seen
together. Negrete and the Spaniards, now masters of their novel exercise,
wandered fleetly and gracefully hither and thither, occasionally being
out of sight completely. The Russian sailors, following a northern
custom, skated in file, maintaining their rank by means of a long pole
passed under their right arms, and in this way they described a trackway
of singular regularity. The two children, blithe as birds, flitted about,
now singly, now arm-in-arm, now joining the captain’s party, now making a
short peregrination by themselves, but always full of life and spirit. As
for Ben Zoof, he was here, there, and everywhere, his imperturbable good
temper ensuring him a smile of welcome whenever he appeared.

Thus coursing rapidly over the icy plain, the whole party had soon
exceeded the line that made the horizon from the shore. First, the rocks
of the coast were lost to view; then the white crests of the cliffs were
no longer to be seen; and at last, the summit of the volcano, with its
corona of vapor, was entirely out of sight. Occasionally the skaters were
obliged to stop to recover their breath, but, fearful of frost-bite, they
almost instantly resumed their exercise, and proceeded nearly as far as
Gourbi Island before they thought about retracing their course.

But night was coming on, and the sun was already sinking in the east with
the rapidity to which the residents on Gallia were by this time well
accustomed. The sunset upon this contracted horizon was very remarkable.
There was not a cloud nor a vapor to catch the tints of the declining
beams; the surface of the ice did not, as a liquid sea would, reflect the
last green ray of light; but the radiant orb, enlarged by the effect of
refraction, its circumference sharply defined against the sky, sank
abruptly, as though a trap had been opened in the ice for its reception.

Before the daylight ended. Captain Servadac had cautioned the party to
collect themselves betimes into one group. “Unless you are sure of your
whereabouts before dark,” he said, “you will not find it after. We have
come out like a party of skirmishers; let us go back in full force.”

The night would be dark; their moon was in conjunction, and would not be
seen; the stars would only give something of that “pale radiance” which
the poet Corneille has described.

Immediately after sunset the torches were lighted, and the long series of
flames, fanned by the rapid motion of their bearers, had much the
appearance of an enormous fiery banner. An hour later, and the volcano
appeared like a dim shadow on the horizon, the light from the crater
shedding a lurid glare upon the surrounding gloom. In time the glow of
the burning lava, reflected in the icy mirror, fell upon the troop of
skaters, and cast their lengthened shadows grotesquely on the surface of
the frozen sea.

Later still, half an hour or more afterwards, the torches were all but
dying out. The shore was close at hand. All at once, Ben Zoof uttered a
startled cry, and pointed with bewildered excitement towards the
mountain. Involuntarily, one and all, they plowed their heels into the
ice and came to a halt. Exclamations of surprise and horror burst from
every lip. The volcano was extinguished! The stream of burning lava had
suddenly ceased to flow!

Speechless with amazement, they stood still for some moments. There was
not one of them that did not realize, more or less, how critical was
their position. The sole source of the heat that had enabled them to
brave the rigor of the cold had failed them! death, in the cruellest of
all shapes, seemed staring them in the face—death from cold! Meanwhile,
the last torch had flickered out.

It was quite dark.

“Forward!” cried Servadac, firmly.

At the word of command they advanced to the shore; clambered with no
little difficulty up the slippery rocks; gained the mouth of the gallery;
groped their way into the common hall.

How dreary! how chill it seemed!

The fiery cataract no longer spread its glowing covering over the mouth
of the grotto. Lieutenant Procope leaned through the aperture. The pool,
hitherto kept fluid by its proximity to the lava, was already encrusted
with a layer of ice.